


Names

by InquisitorLavellan



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 19:18:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3499871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InquisitorLavellan/pseuds/InquisitorLavellan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two times where the Inquisitor's pickiness about names has forced Dorian to be more personal than he intended. Two-part drabble, starting with pre-relationship flirting and ending with a post-sex scene reflection by Dorian. Fluff and Flirting with a dash of humor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Names

Part 1:

Long walks through the Hinterlands gave Ashavan time to reflect on all of the extraordinary events of the past month. Often too much time. The future he had seen in Redcliffe still haunted him in the back of his mind, a grim reminder of the price of failure. What bothered him most, however, was that traveling through time was impossible. It _should_ have been impossible. Too many impossible things had happened to him lately. Even in a world with magic, there were supposed to be _rules_. It had only taken a month to break nearly all of them.

The only good thing that had come out of the horrible mess in Redcliffe was the witty, powerful, and admittedly rather handsome mage walking behind him now. Dorian Pavus, an extremely unlikely ally, was quickly becoming the person Ashavan liked most out of the whole rag-tag Inquisition. Ashavan was glad that at least someone could keep a sense of humor with all of this doom-and-gloom-end-of-the-world stuff going on; most of his traveling companions were dreadfully dour and serious, Cassandra and Solas in particular. Ashavan himself was fond of making jokes to lighten the mood, and it was pleasing to finally have someone laugh at them. Besides, he was the only other member of the Inquisition that remembered what happened at Redcliffe, and that gave them a certain bond of shared experience and knowledge.

Lost in thought, Ashavan didn’t notice Dorian walk up behind him, a scowl on his face. As he reached the elf’s side, he demanded, “Why in the Maker’s name are you, the great Herald of Andraste, escorting a _druffalo_? Isn’t this what the soldiers are for?”

Ashavan blinked, coming back to reality, “I thought it might provide a nice change of pace from all of the demon-hunting.”

Dorian growled, “Give me demons any day. This horridly smelly beast keeps trying to eat my robes. Look at this!” he yelled, holding up a slightly damp and crumbled end of his robe for inspection, “Slobbered all over.”

“Oh what a tragedy,” Ashavan replied with mock horror in his voice, “Clearly the druffalo doesn’t have good taste in clothing, or it would know better than to chew on your fineries. If this keeps up, I’m afraid you may have to stoop to wearing Southern fashions.”

“Calling Southern tastes ‘fashion’ is an insult to the word,” Dorian replied, “Your mages have such ghastly robes. Someone really ought to requisition something more tasteful.”

“You certainly must be the finest-dressed mage in Thedas, Dorian,” Ashavan replied with a laugh, “Perhaps you should suggest something to Therin. If nothing else, our mages can look quite strapping while trying to close the Breach.”

“It would make a lovely picture. Imagine, the handsome Herald of Andraste standing defiantly before the Breach, his divine hand raised in the air, surrounded by a company of fashionably dressed mages. Does the Inquisition have any painters? You should consider recruiting some.”

“I’ll be sure to make that suggestion to Josephine at our next meeting,” Ashavan replied with a sideways smile. They were always like this, exchanging witty retorts and flirtatious remarks. He wasn’t sure what it meant, and was even less sure he actually wanted to know at present. For now, it was fun, later...who knows?

“Also, you don’t have to keep calling me ‘The Herald of Andraste.’ It sounds lofty and pretentious. I thought it would be fun having such a fancy title at first, but all of this ‘Herald’ and ‘Your Worship’ is starting to get on my nerves.”

Dorian laughed, “Why shouldn’t you sound lofty and pretentious? They’re saying the Maker himself has chosen you as our divine savior. Such a distinguished individual certainly can’t be called something boring like Thomas or Franklin.”

“I’ll tell you a little secret,” Ashavan replied, leaning toward the mage to pretend to whisper something in his ear, but he didn’t actually lower his voice, “I don’t subscribe to this whole ‘Andraste’s chosen one’ camp. I’m not even Andrastian in the first place.”

“Ah, right. Elf,” Dorian replied, his eyes wandering to Ashavan’s pointed ears. “You believe in the elven gods, then?”

“No,” Ashavan replied simply. His true heritage still remained a mystery to the Inquisition. They now knew he wasn’t Dalish, but he didn’t think revealing that he was raised by Orlesian spies would win him any points either, and his reputation had enough problems already.

“Then what do you believe?” Dorian questioned.

“I believe that fate has a cruel sense of humor.” Then a smile crept across Ashavan’s lips. “I also believe that your robes must be incredibly delicious.”

While they had been talking, the huge, lumbering druffalo somehow managed to sneak up behind the mage and once again start chewing on his robes. Dorian made a most improper screeching sound followed by a string of Tevene curses which sent Ashavan into a fit of giggles. With considerable effort, they managed to pry the cloth from the druffalo’s mouth and put Solas in charge of controlling the animal.

“Blasted druffalo! Are we getting close? The sooner we get rid of that thing, the better,” Dorian grumbled, fussing with the end of his robe.

“We’re getting close,” Ashavan said, trying to compose himself after his fit of laughter, “I’ll make sure Solas keeps an eye on it. His less fashionable clothing is also less tasty.”

“Well, good. What dashingly heroic feat are we off to complete next, Lavellan?”

_Lavellan_. Ashavan’s back stiffened, and all remnants of a smile disappeared from his face. “Don’t call me that,” he snapped back at the mage.

“I shouldn’t call you that either? You’re very picky about names. Lavellan is your surname, is it not?” Dorian questioned, clearly taken aback at the unexpected harshness of his response.

Ashavan sighed. “By human standards, yes. By elven standards, no. Lavellan is my clan name, but I...I’m not considered a member of the clan.” He had been born to clan Lavellan; that didn’t mean he was a part of it, no matter how many times he had wished he was. In their eyes, he was practically a shemlen, raised by the humans they despised.

“Perhaps I should ditch the name Pavus, then,” Dorian said quietly, a touch of sadness in his voice, though he still fought to keep the humor in it. He shook his head slightly, pushing those thoughts out of his head. “Then what should I call you?”

“My name might be nice. I told everyone my name is Ashavan, but they seem to have forgotten. Soon, even I might start thinking my name is Herald,” Ashavan chuckled to himself at the similarity to the name Harold. Imagine it, an elf named _Harold_.

“First name?” Dorian said in mock surprise, “My, my, doesn’t that seem a bit informal for our great savior?”

“Please, we have enough to deal with without concerning ourselves with the proper formalities,” Ashavan said, rolling his eyes, “I’m certainly not running around calling you Lord Pavus. Besides, Dorian sounds quite refined and dashing.”

“Didn’t you know? That’s what ‘Dorian’ means in Tevinter,” the mage said with a smirk.

“I’m sure,” Ashavan replied, playfully sarcastic. He noticed a farm up ahead, “Look, we’ve arrived!”

“Thank the Maker. I thought we’d never get rid of that thing,” Dorian replied, looking incredibly pleased as Ashavan returned the prize-winning druffalo to its overly-grateful owner. After an excess of, “Thank you, Herald. Maker bless you,” Ashavan managed to escape the farmer’s earnest handshaking and gratuitous praise and rejoin his company.

“Remind me to never do that again,” Ashavan groaned, “Never mind the druffalo, I thought I’d never get away from the farmer.”

“Don’t worry, I most certainly will. So, _Ashavan_ ,” Dorian said, putting extra emphasis on the name. It sounded delightful. Hearing his name spoken in the mage’s richly accented voice caused a strange fluttering sensation in Ashavan’s stomach. He must have had some dreamy expression on his face, because Dorian gave him a strange look before continuing, “Are we going to fight some demons now?”

“Sure, but first I think we ought to visit camp first. Someone needs a change of clothes.”

Part 2:

Dorian sat in his typical chair in the Skyhold library, pretending to read the open book resting on his knee, but he was fooling no one, least of all himself. It had been nearly an hour since he had pulled it off the shelf, and he had yet to turn the page.

_I want more than just fun, Dorian_. He couldn’t get those words out of his head, or the sincerity with which Ashavan had said them, or the soft smile on his lips as he spoke, or the hope and affection in his eyes, or...any of it, really. The scene kept replaying itself in his mind, still feeling like a strange dream, not quite believable, not quite real.

It was the last thing he had expected. Sure, the elf had been flirting with him consistently since they had met, and Dorian rather enjoyed flirting back. Enjoyed it a little too much, he had thought. Then the kissing started and he enjoyed that even more. But he knew where it would lead eventually, knew what the other man really wanted, what all the other men really wanted. He’d decided to cut to the chase, and suggested to the Inquisitor that they move on to something more physical. It was for the best, he had told himself, to get to the point before he started to care too much. It would hurt less that way.

Then there were kisses, heated and breathless, clothing hastily pulled off and thrown to the floor, hands snaking across bare skin, bodies melding in passion and desire. For a moment, all of Dorian’s fears and reservations disappeared. For a moment, there was only _him_.

When it was over, Dorian was left with a familiar mix of emotions: pleasure, affection, sadness, and a pointless flicker of hope more painful than it had ever been before. For all of his efforts, Dorian’s timing was still off. He already cared too much. He told Ashavan it was fine if he wanted to leave it here, perfectly fine if he had had his fun and was ready to move along. He didn’t mean it, but that’s how things went. He would be no different.

But then he was. “I want more than just fun, Dorian,” he had said, gently placing his hand on Dorian’s bare shoulder. Dorian had just stared at him, stunned, speechless. In the elf’s eyes, Dorian saw that same familiar hope, the same secret hope that had been buried in Dorian by years of experience and heartache. When he looked closer, he saw the same fear and pain, too.

“Speechless, I see,” Ashavan had said with a soft, sweet chuckle.

Dorian sighed, “In the Imperium, anything between men, it’s about pleasure. You didn’t hope for more than that. You would be foolish to,” Dorian said. It was an explanation, a confession, a test.

“Then let’s be foolish,” Ashavan had said with a warm smile, his hand gliding across Dorian’s back to his other shoulder, pulling him closer. He kept leaning closer until their lips met in a kiss unlike any Dorian had ever felt before. The touch of his lips was soft and delicate, like a warm breeze. There was less desire and lust in it, replaced by something deeper and more powerful for its gentle touch. It was a kiss that said, “ _I still want this. I still want you. I want something more_.”

Dorian’s reverie was interrupted by the sound of familiar footsteps on the stairs leading to the library. “Good book?” the Inquisitor asked as he arrived in the library.

“I can think of better things to look at,” Dorian teased, his eyes trailing up and down the elf’s pleasingly lithe, toned figure.

“So can I,” Ashavan replied, flirtatiously gazing back at the mage. “Unfortunately, I am actually here for a book this time."

“Oh, and here I thought you were here to distract me. Pity.”

“Well, the book’s not strictly an emergency...” Ashavan said lowly, his fingers brushing across the mage’s shoulders.

Dorian laughed, getting up from his chair. “Best not let _me_ distract _you_ instead. Whoever wants you to get this book would be severely disappointed.”

“Then I guess Cullen will have to deal with disappointment,” Ashavan replied, tracing his finger across the side of Dorian’s jaw, his eyes darting across the tower before placing a quick, secret kiss on his lips.

They both smiled as they pulled away. “Care to help me find it?” Ashavan asked, “You know this library better than anyone.”

Dorian agreed, and the two men started pouring over the shelves for _Battlefield Tactics: A General’s Guide_.

“Sounds like a dry read,” Dorian said, perusing the severely disorganized shelves. Honestly, _The History of Antiva_ next to _A Guide to Wildlife in Fereldan_? Did they just throw these books on the shelves, or did the Inquisition’s members not know to put the books back where they came from? It was infuriating.

“I’m sure it is. All of Cullen’s assigned books are dry reads,” Ashavan replied as he searched his own equally random corner of the library.

They were quiet for a moment. Ashavan was focused on finding the book while Dorian was getting lost in thought once again. He couldn’t help turning around to glance at the elf far too frequently. It was just so strange. He was just here as usual, flirting as always, as if nothing was different. And yet everything was different, at least to Dorian. Whatever it was, they had _something_ now, something so unbelievable, something Dorian wanted to be real more than he would care to admit.

The hopes and doubts fighting in his thoughts made Dorian break the silence, “So, about yesterday...”

“Yes?” Ashavan asked, turning to face him, a faint touch of concern on his face.

Dorian sighed, hesitant to ask the question plaguing his thoughts, “Did you mean what you said?”

The concern vanished from Ashavan’s face and was replaced with a smile, “Of course.” Then he laughed, “Do you think I would risk my reputation by getting with the ‘Tevinter Magister’ for a passing fling?” He meant it as a joke, but the truth of Dorian’s negative impact on the Inquisitor’s reputation still stung.

“Still-ʺ Dorian started to question, still uncertain, but he never got the chance to finish.

“Dorian, stop,” the Inquisitor interrupted, not angrily, more with a touch of sadness than anything, “Just...don’t.”

“Don’t what? I didn’t say anything,” Dorian replied.

“But I know what you’re thinking. You’re doubting, second-guessing. If you’re willing to give this a chance, we’ll figure it out. I certainly want to try,” he said with a hopeful smile.

Dorian smiled. “Alright. I’ll give you fair warning, though, I have no idea how this ‘relationship’ thing works. It might fail miserably.”

“It might. But I hope it won’t,” Ashavan replied with a small smile.

“I suppose you expect us to go on dates and all that, the hopeless romantic you are. You even like those ghastly books of Cassandra’s you’re such a sap. Maybe even give each other pet names,” Dorian joked over his shoulder, having turned back to perusing the shelves.

“Getting moderate entertainment from _Swords and Shields_ does not make me a hopeless romantic,” Ashavan replied, clearly trying to defend his appalling taste in literature, “Still, yes, dates and all that. I don’t know about pet names, but if you had something in mind...”

Dorian smiled. Oh, the opportunities. For once, though, he decided not to turn to his crass sense of humor, though he was certainly tempted with a set-up like that. “Maybe not so much a pet name, more of a nickname, like...Asha?”

Ashavan dropped the book in his hands. His posture stiffened instantly, his now empty hands shaking slightly. “Don’t...Don’t call me that,” he said, his voice trembling.

“You’re incredibly picky about names. This is the second time you’ve told me that,” Dorian replied, trying to make his voice sound caring instead of its typical joking tone. He wasn’t sure if he succeeded.

Ashavan turned to face him. “Just...anything but that.” His eyes were sadder than Dorian had ever seen them, almost misty. It was a pain all too familiar to Dorian, with a story of heartbreak behind it. He wondered what that story was, but he didn’t want to pry.

“Alright,” Dorian said gently to imply that Ashavan didn’t have to explain if he didn’t want to, “How about...” Dorian pondered. What would be a good pet name? _Amatus_. The word sprung into his mind unbidden. He turned back to the shelves to hide any signs of embarrassment on his face. It was a common term of endearment in Tevinter. _Beloved_. Is that how he thought of him? Was it too soon? Still, it felt right. Besides, Dorian assured himself, Ashavan wouldn’t know what it meant anyway. “How about Amatus?” he finally said.

“Amatus,” Ashavan repeated, and hearing the word spoken from his lips made Dorian’s heart pound in his chest. “I don’t know the significance of it, but I like it. It sounds nice.”

Dorian smiled, considerably too pleased that he had agreed to the nickname. “Now that that’s settled, it’s your turn, Amatus,” Dorian said.

“My turn? I didn’t know I had to come up with something,” Ashavan replied. Suddenly, a sideways smile crept across his lips and he laughed, “Should I call you ‘Dori?’”

“Only if you want a fireball flung at you,” Dorian quipped back.

Ashavan giggled even more. Once his laughter started to subside, he spoke up again. “I don’t know...I like the name Dorian.”

“Just my name? How dull,” Dorian said with mock disappointment.

“It’s a nice name,” Ashavan said, coming closer until they were both standing behind the edge of one of the bookshelves, conveniently out of sight. “It’s refined,” he said, gently kissing Dorian’s lips. “Dashing.” Another kiss. “Sexy.” A strong, passionate kiss that sent delightful shivers down Dorian’s spine.

“You know,” Dorian said with a smile, “My name is starting to sound less boring by the second.”

**Author's Note:**

> My first AO3 drabble, yay!! Planning on posting more of these in the future, both for this Inquisitor and my fem!Lavellan and Cully-Wully. I hope you'll read them too. As a side note, I decided to give this Inquisitor a different backstory, since my female Inquisitor is already Dalish, I wanted something new. I'm looking forward to exploring his unique character and his relationship with Dorian in later drabbles. Hope you liked it!


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